


It's beginning to look a lot like...

by a_secret_scribbler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Jumpers, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Complete, M/M, Revenge, T'was the Night Before Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_secret_scribbler/pseuds/a_secret_scribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some belated Christmas snippets...apologies to all of you who're detoxing from Sherlock Christmas stories, just skip all this and go find yourself a nice fic about kale smoothies and treadmills...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tainting a traditional Christmas poem...not sorry...

* 

“T’was the night before Christmas,

And all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring…”

 

Sherlock chuckled as he watched John stir a teaspoon of honey into his tea and turn to fetch it over to him.

“What’s s’funny?” the doctor mumbled around a segment of chocolate orange that he’d tapped and unwrapped earlier.

“I was just thinking about a poem that Mummy used to recite to Mycroft and I every Christmas eve, you were stirring my tea when ‘not a creature was stirring’, impeccable timing as ever John.”

John placed the mug down on the coffee table, straddled his husband’s knees and leant in for a kiss, a warm, chocolatey, orangey kiss. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and snuggled him closer.

“Shall we take this into the bedroom?” John asked as he felt Sherlock harden against his thigh, the taller man nodded against his chest in agreement, so John rose to his feet and made to move across the room, turning, he gave Sherlock a very lascivious wink and beckoned him with his finger.

“Yes John, I know you’ve been playing it through in your tiny little mind ever since I mentioned it…’A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread’…”

“Oh don’t be too sure about that last bit.” John grinned wickedly, “Come on, Dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

Sherlock followed his very own jolly old elf into the bedroom, bracing himself for a selection box full of puns about Johns sack being fit to burst, his candy cane needing a good sucking and the traditional “O come all ye faithful…” while he did just that…

*

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft's very first Christmas

*

Greg leaned against the wall and watched the last few remaining party goers swaying to Wham’s “Last Christmas”. Anderson was twatted, fast asleep under the buffet table, Donovan was snogging some poor new recruit against the filing cabinet, all the stereotypical Works Christmas Party activities had been ticked. Sherlock and John were smooching, all hope of keeping their newly budding relationship blown to smithereens when Sherlock spotted John being chatted up by the desk sergeant and, fuelled by a couple of Baileys, had marched over, seized the doctor by his shirt collar, and kissed him to a chorus of “About bloody time!” and “Who’s won the sweepstake?”  

It was a couple of days until the 25th and Greg still had no idea what he was doing on the big day. His ex and the kid’s had sprung it on him that they would be in Tenerife until the new year, so seeing his daughters was out of the question. His sister had invited him over for the day, but it was always full on at her house, four boys under the age of 10, plus neighbours popping in, too much food and booze, it would take him a week to recover, and although he’d managed to wangle Christmas day and boxing day off, he was back on the 27th.  He’d pretty much resigned himself to an M&S turkey meal for one and a box set of Doctor Who, David Tennant, his favourite, tall, rangy, be-suited, what wasn’t there to like?

Talking of which, a figure appeared silhouetted at the doorway, he was no tenth doctor obviously, but he did wield that umbrella like a sonic screwdriver and he was tall, slim and be-suited. Greg made his way over to welcome the man.

“Good evening Mr Holmes, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Lestrade.” The other man said acknowledging Greg’s presence. “I had to see it for myself, the rumours have already reached the hallowed halls of Westminster…” he nodded over to where John and Sherlock were now barely moving but still looking into each other’s eyes with such fondness that Greg turned immediately away, embarrassed to intrude on their intimacy. He found himself instead looking into the deep blue eyes of Sherlock’s brother, who blinked rapidly and flushed a rather becoming shade of pink. Ah. Caught red-handed.

“Do you like what you see Mr Holmes?” Greg said boldly, spreading his arms wide and displaying himself, for what he was worth, to the other man.

“Inspector. I have no idea…I really don’t…This is preposterous!” Mycroft Holmes stuttered, taking a step backwards and bumping into the door frame, his usual cool, calm exterior blown.

“Come on Mr Holmes. You were looking at me like I was your Christmas dinner and you’d not eaten for a fortnight. You needn’t worry, I’m just as hungry, and right now you’re looking pretty fucking tasty yourself…” Greg was silenced by a pair of lips landing rather forcefully on his own and a tongue slipping into his mouth. He groaned at the invasion and, leaning forward, gripped hold of the taller man’s lapels before returning the kiss with enthusiasm.

 After a few minutes the kisses became less passionate and Greg slowly pulled way, peppering a few gentle caresses over the other man’s jawline as he withdrew. He looked up and found that Holmes had his eyes still closed and he was running his tongue over his own lips, as if collecting every last soupçon of their kiss. Greg let out a low moan at the sight, which he found knee tremblingly erotic. Holme’s eyes flew open and he looked at Greg like a deer caught in the headlights.

 “How long Mr Holmes?” Greg asked.

The other man sagged against the wall and looked down at his feet, “Too long. Since the very first. The night I found you sitting at my brother’s bedside, when you had found him unconscious after a drugs raid on the squat he was living in. You were so…non-judgemental…when I asked you why you had stayed, you said you were worried that he had no-one and there but for the grace of god…I think I fell a little in love with you right then.”

“Wow! That’s a long time to be carrying such a big secret. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you would laugh and reject me, I couldn’t bear to take the risk. I would rather have the fantasy than to have it dashed by you turning me down, Inspector”

“I think we can dispense with the formalities now, don’t you? It’s Greg.”

“Greg…Gregory?”

“If you must…”

“Mycroft. Please don’t shorten it.”

“Okay Mikey…” Greg said with an evil grin, “Have you got any plans for Christmas day? Because I’m thinking you, me and David Tennant on my couch after a plate full of turkey and all the trimmings.”

“As it happens, I am free that day. Although I’d prefer it if this David person wasn’t present, it sounds a little overcrowded…”

“You have no idea who he is, do you? The tenth doctor? Doctor Who?” Greg said rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. “Oh, you have so much to learn…come on, you can get your driver to drop me off on your way home, that way you’ll know where you’re coming for Christmas. I’ll give you a brief history of Dr Who on our way.”

Mycroft smiled, “Ah, Gregory, if you think I don’t know where you live already, you have seriously underestimated my interest in you…”

Greg grinned like an idiot. “Well…let’s waste no more time then. Allons-y!”

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Lizzie Hudson and Molly Hooper. A force to be reckoned with...

*

“Now come on, just one more inch and then you can cast off and I can sew it up. Let’s get it done before Strictly.”

Molly looked up, the tip of her tongue protruding slightly from between her lips in concentration, and smiled at the older woman. “Okay Mrs Hudson, you get the ironing board out and I’ll give the pieces a press before you start.”

“Molly dear, I have told you a dozen times to call me Lizzie haven’t I? One more Mrs Hudson from you and I will make you sit on the naughty step in the hall…and don’t think I won’t…there’s a bald patch on the third step up from Sherlock’s arse, usually for interrupting me and John watching Downton, or blowing up the kitchen, or setting fire to the curtains, or getting a bit carried away next to the coat hooks…mind you him and John both ended up sitting there that day...actually Sherlock wasn’t up to sitting down, he just sort of crouched, well dear I’m not surprised, I got a right eyeful, and with what John’s packing down there…”

“Mrs Hu…Lizzie, I think I’m ready now.” Molly interrupted before her cheeks could burn any brighter. She got up and laid the pieces onto the ironing board, selecting a warm setting and pressing the edges carefully.

Elizabeth Tallulah-Belle Hudson scooped up the pressed pieces and pinned them carefully together before taking a large needle and beginning the odious task of turning said pieces into a jumper, the second that month. One for each of the unsuspecting boys residing upstairs.

In the months after Sherlock’s “absence” Molly and Lizzie had forged a strong friendship, Molly because she knew that she could keep an unsuspecting eye on John, as she had been instructed, by hanging around in 221A and Lizzie because she suspected that the young woman needed bringing out of her shell and she was just the woman to do it. When it turned out, many months later, that Molly had assisted Sherlock with his ill-thought out plans, Lizzie gave Molly the sharp end of her tongue and then sat her down five minutes later with a cup of tea and a Gypsy Cream and all was forgiven.  

Now Sherlock and John were back in 221B, Mary and the fake pregnancy was a dim and distant memory, and Lizzie had invested in noise cancelling earbuds, what with all the caterwauling and creaking of bedsprings from upstairs, the two women had planned a special Christmas present for both of them. It had been Molly’s idea originally, she’d  found the pattern free in Cat and Kittens Monthly, and tonight, probably just before the opening credits of Strictly Come Dancing’s final rolled, there would be two rather garishly patterned Christmas jumpers hanging on padded coat hangers in Lizzies wardrobe, just awaiting one evening next week when the “girls” were getting together for a mince pie, sherry, and wrapping party for two, the quality of the wrapping would very much depend on at what end of the evening the present was trussed. Molly had great plans involving ribbon, bows and matching gift cards, Lizzie was more of a cheap paper and five yards of tape girl.

On Christmas morning neither of the nifty knitters were present as John and Sherlock opened their presents, although Lizzie was woken up by peals of laughter, which were afterwards revealed to have come from John in response to the face Sherlock pulled when he realised that he would have to wear the red and green monstrosity, covered in cats wearing elf hats and bows, during lunch at Greg and Mycroft’s house, to which both women had been invited. John’s laughter died in his throat when he opened his own parcel to reveal a large grey cat pictured sitting in the snow, the snowflakes drifting down over the royal blue background picked out by sixty four white and silver pompoms lovingly sewn on by hand.

Greg and Mycroft could barely contain their mirth when they opened their front door to find the be-jumpered pair on their doorstep. Thankfully, years of training in public relations and diplomacy allowed them to keep straight faces as two suspiciously lumpy packages were pulled from the depths of Lizzies bag and the words “We didn’t want you two to feel left out…” uttered.

If anyone peeping through the windows of that rather tastefully decorated house that afternoon noticed the glances the two women gave each other, and the hidden smirks, they would be under no illusion that mischief had been committed, and if the rather spectacular purple jumper with kittens in Christmas stockings, front and back, which clashed delightfully with the auburn hair of a minor government official wasn’t payback for every time that pompous arse had smirked at her and turned down her offer of tea, then Lizzie wasn’t saying. As for the Detective Inspector in his Candy Cane striped jumper complete with cat eared hood and tail with a bow and bell on the end, well wasn’t that a fair return for standing up Molly that time and claiming he’d been kidnapped and driven to an abandoned warehouse, when everyone knew a week later he was shagging Sherlock’s brother…The other two, well Lizzie had a list as long as her arm with their misdemeanour’s writ large. When Molly had jokingly suggested that they get a little revenge for past crimes this Christmas and revealed the startlingly awful jumper patterns she’d managed to purloin from her mother’s magazine, the plan was hatched and, as they both sat there, munching on Fortnam and Mason’s mince pies and sipping on flutes of rather good champagne, they raised their glasses in a silent salute and agreed that revenge really was best served in 100% acrylic double knit.

*


End file.
